Frozen Heart
by InsanityRunsInMyBlood
Summary: "Goodbye Bella." Inspired by Kylie Concorde. Voldemort wins the war. Decades later, he accidentally summons Bella with the Resurrection Stone, but he has no memory of her...Rated T for safety.


Lord Voldemort wandered in the forest, his bare feet brushing against the soft, dry dirt. The trees murmured softly around him, their branches shaking slightly, dusting off a few Slytherin-green leaves now and then. He fingered his wand. In the Final Battle, his yew wand had broken, and he was seemingly defeated by Harry Potter. A decade later, he revived himself using a last resort—his last Horcrux, stored inside of Hogwarts, down in the Chamber of Secrets, in the deepest part of it. It was Salazar Slytherin's ring, a family heirloom that was kept there and treasured for centuries. He did not dare tell anyone of this Horcrux, in fear that it might be destroyed. After all, if he was the only one who knew of it, then Potter cannot possibly find out about it, even if the boy looked into his mind.

After he killed the Potter boy, the power of the Elder Wand passed onto him, and also the power of the Invisibility Cloak. The Potter, or Ignotus Peverell's line, had perished for real when Voldemort killed James Sirius, Albus Severus, and Lily Luna Potter personally. This time, he left no one alive. The Ministry was now as corrupt as it had been back in 1998. He found new followers, but found that they lacked the vigour and dedication of his old ones. However, they will have to do. He regretted the fact that the Lestranges never had any heirs, for he was sure that they would have been as devoted to him as Rodolphus, Rabastan, and Bellatrix had been. Only the Malfoys passed on their line. Draco Malfoy had young Scorpius, and Scorpius had two sons and a daughter that passed on the Malfoy line, branching it off. With time, the Malfoys grew until they were as big as the Black line had been, once—before Bellatrix killed the last heir, Sirius Black.

Voldemort, however, had no recollection of his followers from the Second Wizarding War. Those memories were long forgotten and thrown somewhere into the dark recesses of his mind. His mind was now blank. He had no purpose except for to live forever. He feared Death still.

On his right hand rested a ring which held the Resurrection Stone, newly restored after the Third Wizarding War, in which Voldemort was decisively victorious. The cloak, the third hallow, was draped under his cloak, which covered it. If anyone were to see Voldemort's cloak open, they wouldn't see a body, just a head floating about the top parts of the cloak.

He arrived at a clearing in the forest and frowned. It seemed so familiar…a place he visited…so long ago…and he had a, what was it, a flashback? A recollection? Of this place.

"_My lord…my lord…"_

He could vaguely remember a woman's voice and a soft touch, but all that vanished when a soft breeze shook the leaves and swept the memory away. Voldemort was suddenly angered. He was angry…at the gust of wind. He was just starting to remember. He _wanted_ to remember, but try as he might, he couldn't. He became more and more frustrated by each second. He, Lord Voldemort, he, who lived, he, who conquered death and was now immortal, defeated by a mere memory? A memory that he couldn't even _remember_?

He paced around the clearing, agitation on his normally blank face. Snippets of memories began to float back into his mind.

"_That will do."_

That was distinctively his own voice, but who was he talking to? He strained to remember more. Something flashed in his mind, and he saw a dark room with a long table, with many people garbed in black cloaks seated around it.

"…_Bellatrix…"_

It was the only thing he remembered. Bellatrix. _Bellatrix_. Bella. _Bella_.

"Bella." He murmured out loud, fiddling with the ring on his hand. A ghostly apparition shimmered to life in front of him. The woman looked neither solid nor see-through. She looked solid enough to be touched, yet somehow Voldemort knew that she wasn't real—just an image.

The woman raised her head and looked around her. Her sparkling eyes settled on Voldemort, and she smiled coyly.

"Hello, milord. It's so delightful to see you again. I've missed you so much…" She gazed at him rather curiously, smiling and stepping…no, gliding closer. He had changed. She was used to the snake-like version of him. Now he had midnight dark hair, a nose, and was less pale, but still very pale compared to others. The only thing that didn't change were his eyes. They were still wine-red, or bloodred, as others called them. They still drew her in and entranced her like nothing else did. This must be the looks he was born with.

Voldemort regarded her just as curiously.

"Who are you?" He asked. The woman stopped in surprise, eyes widening.

"You…you don't remember me?" She asked in shock, hurt, but also resigned at the same time. She hadn't expected much, but she had thought that he would at least remember her name, if not her looks.

Voldemort walked toward her, closing the distance between them. She was beautiful. She glowed with an ethereal quality, and Voldemort was struck by a…new emotion…was it sadness? He knew that she didn't belong to this world—she was too perfect and delicate. Who was she…? Unless…

"Bellatrix?" He whispered, his hand reaching forward to touch her cheek. Instead of cold air as he expected, a warm feeling traveled from his fingertips to his whole body. She smiled at him, a silver…blush…rising on her cheeks.

"Bella will do, Master."

_Master_. Nobody ever called him master as long as he could remember. It was either 'my lord' or 'sir' or 'king', as some called him. He liked it very much. Coming from her lips, it sent a shiver down his spine.

"So you're the Bella I remember…my Bella." Voldemort said, feeling strangely possessive over this strange, beautiful new creature. She should be his forever, and nobody else's.

"So you do remember." She whispered.

"What are you?" Voldemort asked. "You're not a ghost, nor are you alive." He paced again. Bella stood in the same place, watching him with amusement. "I loathe a mystery." He said agitatedly. Bella grinned. She was glad to see that some things never changed.

"I am a spirit, Master." She explained. "Called forth by the ring on your hand—the Resurrrection Stone." She said. Voldemort examined the ring closely.

"Is that what this is called, then…" It was more of a confirmation than a question.

"Master…what do you remember? What's your furthest memory?" Bella suddenly asked. He paused.

"The end of the Third Wizarding War, I believe. I won, and it's all that mattered. I, however, do not know about anything before that, and certainly not the first or second war, if there were ones." Voldemort said, straining his brain. Bella looked so forlorn that he wanted to take her in his arms and whisper comforting words into her ear. Then he frowned. Lord Voldemort did not have these strange affections nor did he ever want to…hug a person! This was absurd. What were these feelings that she has incited within him?

"So…you don't remember what I did for you, then?" She asked in a soft, broken voice. "I was your most faithful, your best, last, lieutenant…" A bitter smile twisted her lips.

"I…" Voldemort hated not knowing, but he was truly stumped this time. Any books written on the wars were destroyed in the Great Fire of Hogwarts, which took place by rebels after the third war, after Voldemort had taken over Hogwarts. It had burnt the entirety of what used to be the Gryffindor Tower, the Ravenclaw Tower, the Headmaster's office, and the Library. Thousands and thousands of precious volumes, whether stashed in the library or the Headmaster's office, have been reduced to cinders. Voldemort had decimated the offenders and went on a killing spree. Some of the books were priceless! Unfortunately this also destroyed Hogwarts' newspaper store, and now Voldemort could not look back into the papers to get information on the years that were lost, buried so deep in his mind that even being a master Occlumens and Legilimens didn't help him retrieve those memories.

"I don't remember…" He said heavily. "I…" Something seemed to block his words. What did he want to say? That he was sorry? What was he sorry _for_? For not remembering her? Wasn't…wasn't she just another follower? She claims to be his best, last, lieutenant…then how come he hasn't got any memory of her?

"I didn't expect you to." She smiled sadly. "You've already lost too much." She said. "Tell me…how many more Horcruxes did you make?"

Voldemort was surprised that she knew of them. Surprised, and suspicious.

"How do you know?"

"I remember." She said softly. He caught the implied meaning. He didn't remember.

"After the Third War…I wanted to ensure my immortality a step further. Whatever power I gained before…I have forgotten. I did not feel safe. I made three Horcruxes. Three is a very powerful number. I was going to make seven, but something…stopped me. I somehow felt the risk of venturing into such dangerous waters again." Voldemort didn't know why he was telling her. She asked, but that didn't mean he had to answer. It was a profound feeling of trust, which felt preposterous, because Lord Voldemort did not trust anyone. Ever.

"I discovered Slytherin's sword." He said. "I found Merlin's book. Morgana's wand." He said quietly, in reverence. Bella looked impressed, but there was a deep grief etched into her expression that Voldemort cannot even begin to comprehend.

"Then my visit is for naught but to see you again, milord." She said, gliding forward. She pressed a kiss to his cheek, and once again the warmth spread through him. A foreign feeling rose within Voldemort's chest, and he forced it down, scared of the unknown.

"For as long as you live, and beyond…Master, this heart," she placed a slender hand over her chest, "this soul," she gestured to her body, "will belong to you," she said quietly. Voldemort was rendered speechless. Out of all the servants he has today, none of them are this devoted. The inexplicable feeling welled up again. He quashed it yet again. Something told him to let it consume him, but his irrational fear overruled his subconscious. Bella must have seen his internal conflict, for a knowing gleam flashed in her eyes.

"Master…" She said. "Do you wish to remain in the mortal plane—alone for eternity? Or do you wish to join me and the others?" She asked softly. Voldemort remained expressionless. She bowed her head, and a single teardrop splattered on the ground, dissolving to mist and leaving no trace behind. She looked up again. He stared into her eyes. They were so deep and contained so much emotion, emotion that he did not understand, or even recognised.

"I see you have chosen." She whispered in a broken voice. "Then…goodbye Master. I do hope to see you again." Her voice was so fragile. The tone suggested that she felt that she would never see him again. Voldemort stood there uncertainly, looking at her rapidly disappearing form. With a lurch, he shot forward and grabbed at her wrist, but he passed through thin air. Even though he was touching her, he felt none of the comforting yet alien warmth he felt the previous two times. This time, he only felt the cold air stinging at him, mocking him, torturing him.

She disappeared completely.

He had missed his chance to join her, wherever she was; Missed his chance to find out whatever the foreign feeling was; Missed his chance to recollect his memories.

"_I love you Master." _A whisper reverberated around the forest. His throat constricted uncomfortably.

"Love…?" He asked in a confused and naïve voice. He had no experience in this matter. What was love? Was love an obsession? Is it just a word? An emotion? It must be. So was the emotion in her eyes…this love? Did he feel love when he touched her? When she touched him?

Whatever it was, it was gone. He did not like to dwell on the past. He comforted himself with the fact that soon—soon—he will be occupied with politics and teaching again, and he'll forget this encounter. Yes. He will. This woman…Bella. She meant nothing to him, means nothing to him, and won't mean anything to him in the future.

"Goodbye Bella." The two words slipped out of his mouth. The wind carried it away, to a place that he couldn't access, but had no desire to access, and he promised himself that he will never access it. Ever.

With that last thought, he swept out of the forest, stirring some of the fallen leaves that swirled around in a circle, blown by his cloak into the air. They danced until they reached the ground, where they landed softly, sad that they won't be able to perform with the wind again.

Somewhere deep inside the forest, in the core of it, a hauntingly beautiful verse rang through the woods. It shook every trunk, touched every animal, and rocked the very castle of Hogwarts.

_If you only remembered me,_

_How much would the future hold?_

_Don't you ever want to be free?_

_Frozen forever, a heart ice-cold._


End file.
